Tayte was already feeling overwhelmed by the delicate handling her grandmother seemed to require. As the minutes passed, she scanned the farmyard, unable to merge this sea of neglect with her pristine memories. She heard Tyler mutter something derogatory under his breath.
“This isn’t how I remember it. I don’t know what happened, but it . . . it wasn’t like this.”
The door opened, and Sarah came out leading an old woman dressed in a snug, low cut sweater and slacks. Silver hair was piled high on her head, and her lips and cheeks were bright orange. She peered at the group suspiciously, hovering near the door as she eyed them from afar.
Sarah pulled Agnes a few steps forward explaining, “Agnes, you got all dressed up for your company. Surely you want to greet them. You remember your attorney, Nathaniel Briscoe? He was here last week.”
“Sharlz’s son.” She huffed. Her French intonations rolled the name out with a rich “Sh” sound, but the disdain in her voice dispelled its charm. “You look like your mother.”
Tayte heard her grandmother’s biting tone, and watched its effect on the attorney, causing Nathaniel to blanch. But Agnes’s entire persona changed when she approached Tyler. “And who might this handsome young man be?” She held her head high and pulled her shoulders back as she offered him her hand.
Sarah intervened, bringing Tayte front and center again. “This beautiful young woman is Angeline’s daughter, Tayte. She’s your granddaughter.”
Tayte and her grandmother studied each other carefully. Age had changed her somewhat, but once Tayte heard that voice, recognition came easily. Tayte was about to reach for her when she noticed how pinched Agnes’s eyes and mouth became the longer she studied her face. “Angeline?”
Tayte fought to keep her emotions in check. “I’m not Angeline. I’m Angeline’s daughter. I’m Tayte. Mom brought me to visit you a long time ago.”
Agnes’s face softened into a palette of sorrow. “Angeline’s dead. My baby girl is dead.”
Tayte felt Tyler’s arm tighten around her shoulder. It was all too much to take in, and she surrendered to the hurt, releasing silent tears. “I know. I’m sad too.”
A gentle, wrinkled hand reached up to wipe Tayte’s tears. “There, there,” said Agnes, opening her arms wide, offering comfort to the crying girl.
Tayte left Tyler’s side and stepped into that waiting embrace. Gone were the smells of fresh bread and jam. The essence of familiar French cologne Agnes had undoubtedly dabbed on at the mention of company was marred by traces of some foul scent that lingered in her clothes. Tayte pulled back momentarily, but unable and unwilling to resist the offer to be loved, she laid her head on her grandmother’s shoulder and hugged her right back.
She hadn’t even realized how deeply she ached to experience the osmosis of love exchanged when maternal arms wrapped around her, but now that she was within that circle, she felt comfort and love soak into her, filling the void and renewing parts of her that had felt stone cold. Her aversion to dirt and to her grandmother’s tainted scent dissipated the longer they embraced, dispelled by the logic that with enough soap and water, all could be made right.
Tayte didn’t want the moment to end, but when Agnes pushed her back and framed her face in work-worn hands, those aged eyes gazed into Tayte’s with so much love that her young heart burned more fiercely.
“Oh, my sweet girl. Do not cry. I am very happy to meet you. I am Agnes Devereaux Keller. Now, who might you be, and tell me, what has made you so sad, ma chérie?”
* * *
Tayte’s parents had planned to be cremated, but there was still a funeral first, and special arrangements were made for Tayte and Agnes to have an hour alone in the viewing room the next day, to say their good-byes. While she and Tyler waited for Agnes to join them, Tayte was grateful for the mercy of that solitary hour when she first saw her parents; they were so unlike the people she remembered, so cold and overly made-up to hide their injuries, their once-limber bodies stiffly posed on the caskets’ white satin. They were clothed too formally, with her father in a suit and her mother in a beaded dress. Their hair was too styled. This was not how she wanted to remember them, and Tayte still had the memorial service to endure.
Tyler held her hand, but his empty promises about how everything would be all right did little to assuage the growing chill creeping over her world. Her parents’ mortality would be formally marked in one hour, but the issue of her grandmother still remained. Then Agnes arrived.
She wore the new black dress Sarah had apparently purchased for her, and Sarah had clearly interceded with her makeup as well. Except for the crow’s feet around Agnes’s eyes, and the laugh lines that tickled the corners of her mouth, she looked much as she had in Tayte’s childhood. The effect was so surreal for Tayte that the reserved young woman flew to her grandmother’s side, taking her arm and hovering near. Agnes responded by placing her hand on one of Tayte’s tear-stained cheeks, while pulling the girl’s face near enough to kiss the other.
As they approached Angeline’s casket, Tayte gauged her grandmother’s reaction, which was more curiosity than grief. Tayte gave Agnes’s arm a gentle squeeze. “How are you doing?”
Agnes smiled at Tayte. “You’re very kind. Did you know this poor woman?”
Tayte froze, then searched for Tyler who hurried to Tayte’s other side.
“She doesn’t recognize my mother,” whispered Tayte.
Tyler shrugged. “Maybe that’s good.”
“That means she probably doesn’t remember me either.”
Tyler shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”
She looked at him as if he were an idiot. Her voice was nearly silent as her eyes drilled into him. “Get someone. Find Sarah. Or Nathaniel.”
He exited with a huff, leaving the women side-by-side at the casket. Tayte kept searching the doorways for a familiar face while she responded to Agnes’s innocuous comments about the dead woman’s makeup and burial dress. Then something caught Agnes’s eye. It was the card attached to a red rose tucked into the corpse’s hand. It read,
My dearest Angeline,
I miss you so much, Darling.
All my love,
Gregg
“Angeline?” muttered Agnes. Tayte tensed, then panicked when her grandmother reached into the casket to study the card more closely.
“No, Grandma,” she whispered, but Agnes shot her a look of defiance, pulled her arm free from Tayte’s grasp, and grabbed the card. Craning her neck, Tayte peered past the door and down the hall in hope that Sarah or Nathaniel would appear, but Agnes was now shaking the flowers and the card in her hand.
“Angeline? Angeline?” she repeated, moving closer to the casket and studying the dead woman’s face more closely. “No, no! That can’t be Angeline! My baby! Angeline!”
Sarah arrived in a run with Agnes’s family doctor who’d come to pay his respects. Dr. Nash carefully led Agnes to a chair. Tayte suddenly felt so sick she feared she might throw up.
Tyler reached for her hand. “Oh, man. Your grandmother’s really losing it.”
Tayte shoved him away and ran into the ladies’ room, exiting thirty minutes later. She found Tyler who nodded before taking a call. A calmer Agnes sat in a far corner, surrounded by well-wishers, while two compassionate but relative strangers, Angeline’s fiancé, Gregg, and Stoddard’s intended, Kathleen, stood by Tayte near the caskets, receiving guests who shared memories of her parents that were completely foreign to Tayte. It was as if she had been erased from her parents’ lives.
Needing some air, she left the receiving line and stepped outside. Tyler followed her out and asked, “So, what’s the plan?”
“What do you mean?”
“What time do you see us leaving?”
Tayte blinked rapidly as all the details that still required her attention flashed across her mind. “I don’t know,” she snapped. “There’s the dinner Sarah arranged, and I want to talk to Grandma’s doctors. I might need to stay another
day or two. Is that a problem? Nathaniel already arranged rooms for us.”
“What do you think you’ll accomplish by staying another few days, Tayte?”
“I’ve got to get a plan together for my grandmother. Nathaniel asked me to consider moving in with her, at least for a while, until we can find long-term help, or a new place for her to live. I can’t just leave. I’m all she has.”
The revelation seemed to stun Tyler. “She doesn’t even know you, Tayte. You’re a stranger to her. She probably woke up this morning with no idea that your mother is even dead.”
Tayte sucked in a gasp at the coldness of the comment. She thumped her chest. “I know my mother and father are dead, and I don’t want to be a stranger to the only family I have left.”
Tyler sank into one hip and brought his hands forward like a wall. “I understand that. I really do, but do you understand the roller coaster ride you’re getting on?”
Defiance was Tayte’s first reaction, but as the significance of the question settled over her, she closed her eyes and shrugged.
Tyler stepped closer, sweeping his blonde locks back. He placed one hand on her shoulder. “My last psyche class covered Alzheimer’s. It’s tough, Tayte. You should talk to a neurologist and hear the cold truth about how this might play out before you make commitments. Agnes is not the grandmother you remember. You need to accept that fact up front.”
Tayte’s phone rang, interrupting the conversation. Nathaniel Briscoe’s voice asked, “Where are you, Tayte? The funeral is about to begin.”
She ended the call without breaking contact with Tyler’s no-longer sparkling eyes. “Do you mind if we discuss this later? My parents’ funeral is about to start.”
“Fine. Go on in. I need to check my email. I’ll be along soon.”
She rubbed her arms, feeling a chill creep back in as she entered the viewing room solo. Gregg and Kathleen were waiting near John and Sarah Anderson who stood on either side of her grandmother. The pastor offered a prayer before closing the caskets, and then the funeral director gave a few last minute instructions. Tayte hovered in an alcove as unfamiliar people filled the facility’s cream-colored chapel. Then the funeral choreography began as twelve unfamiliar men rolled the caskets to the chapel’s doors.
The funeral director placed Tayte right behind her grandmother in the procession. Tayte reached for Agnes’s hand, but the distraught woman looked right past her as if she didn’t know her, driving home the painful truth that at this moment, she probably didn’t. The processional music began to play and Tayte panicked, scanning the area for Tyler. Her eyes burned at the thought of entering without him, and then he dashed into line beside her.
“Where’ve you been?” Her whispered question came out as an accusation.
“One of my friends emailed me. Professor Ulrich threw a surprise project in and it’s due tomorrow. I’ve got to get to the hotel and write a paper tonight.”
Tayte huffed and rolled her red-rimmed eyes.
“I get it, Tayte. You’ve made your opinion about my curriculum quite clear.”
Her emotions vacillated between anger, sorrow, and numbness as she moved to a seat on the pew directly in front of the two caskets that held the only family she ever knew. Every nerve in her body fired. She wanted to leap up and scream, but barring that, she closed her eyes and endured the program.
Kathleen and Gregg spoke of people disconnected from Tayte’s childhood. Normal, happy memories devoid of the smoke-and-alcohol-affected love she had known. Her parents had finally grown up, managing to use the business they’d started not simply to fund their entertainment, but to build two separate and stable lives. And she had missed it all.
Gregg directed the final part of his eulogy to Tayte, sharing excerpts from a letter Angeline had written to her daughter but never mailed. Tayte felt her heart pound as her mother’s private expressions of love and regret were scattered like dandelion seeds over the crowd. She wanted to grab her letter from his hands and run away, but she was caged by the sympathetic looks and the social expectations of the gruesome occasion. She folded over, hoping the stranger would take the cue and stop, and when he didn’t, she bolted from her seat and left.
Tyler found her, outside by the hearse. She grabbed his arm. “I need to get out of here.”
“Okay.” Tyler didn’t hesitate, leaving to get the car as Nathaniel arrived in a near run.
“I’m so sorry, Tayte. I had no idea—”
Tayte’s hands flapped at him, curbing the conversation. “I’m leaving.”
“Now?” He stood there, his head nodding like a bobble-head figure as she blinked back tears. “Okay. All right. We can talk tomorrow. Get some rest. I understand . . .”
“No, you don’t.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m heading back to Miami.”
Nathaniel stepped toward her, but fire flew from her eyes, driving him back.
“What about your grandmother, Tayte?”
She wrung her hands and cried. “She doesn’t know me. She might never know me. I’m a mess. I can barely take care of myself right now. I’ve got nothing to give her.”
Tyler pulled up, leaned across the seat, and opened the door. “Let’s go, Tayte.”
Tayte looked at Nathaniel and hesitated. “I wish I could but . . .”
“Get in, Tayte,” said Tyler, gesturing for her to come. “It’s time to go.”
Staring back at the open chapel door, Tayte begged Nathaniel to understand. “Please tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I’ve dreamed about her for sixteen years, but I—I just can’t do this.”
She slid into the seat and had barely closed the door before Tyler pulled away.
Chapter 4
The car had barely left the lot before Tayte’s regrets began. The hurt and grief that propelled her from the funeral had morphed and intensified into something worse. More guilt. More regret. She turned to Tyler and cried, “Take me back.”
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have left. At least not like that. Please, Tyler, take me back.”
His quick incredulous glances her way revealed his frustration. Though his voice remained measured and calm, she saw his fingers tighten and twist around the wheel. “Just stop and think for a minute, Tayte. Think about what sent you running out of that chapel. None of that is going to be different if you go back.”
She bit her nail and stared out the window as two of Frederick’s city blocks passed by. “I didn’t even say goodbye to her.” She began to cry. “I might never see her again. That’s what I did to my parents. I can’t do that again.”
Tyler slowed the car. “What if we pull over somewhere, grab a bite of food, and talk this over?”
She nodded silently, grateful for any alternative to running away or returning to that funeral. They found a chic downtown area lined with shopping and dining opportunities. It was lunch hour and the parking spaces were filled. Tyler took the last available slot on the block, situated a door down from an Italian bistro. A couple was already seated outside on a bench.
When Tyler asked for a table, they were invited to wait at the bar or outside on the bench until a table became available.
“Outside,” Tayte replied abruptly. She looked at Tyler. “It’s too noisy and crowded in there. I can’t handle that right now.” She turned and exited the door, but the bench offered no more privacy, so she opted to pace up and down the sidewalk. Tyler caught up with her, but as he did his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and hurriedly took the call while Tayte continued to pace.
She noticed a three-story glass-fronted building on the corner of the next block, across the street. It looked out of place, like a marker designating the end of the historic district. She read the placard above the imposing front entrance—Delacourte Gallery—and without a word to Tyler, she began walking toward it when she felt a hand on her elbow.
“My film professor called to tell me my thesis topic was approved—“The Fifty Greatest Films You’ve Never Seen.’
”
“I bet you’ve seen them all,” Tayte said dismissively.
“Well, yeah. Are you heading to the gallery? Because I need to shoot off a few emails. I’ll call you if we get a table before you get back, okay?” Before she could nod, Tyler was moving toward the bench, his head bent over his smartphone, typing away.
She rolled her eyes and walked purposely toward the gallery. Moments later, she’d forgotten her irritation with Tyler. Instead, the front window captured her attention. She was impressed by the pieces displayed in the showcases; they demonstrated significant talent. But then she noted the poster advertising a coming community art fair, and assumed the pieces were part of that event. These artists were good, she conceded, but in her heart, she knew she was better.
The gallery’s front door opened into a spacious area cordoned off with movable walls filled with paintings and sketches. Tayte stopped and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of oils and canvas before moving through the displays. She knew the biographies of the masters, as well as those of some of the newer artists whose works hung here. Each captured a moment in time, or told a story, a depiction of personal pain or want or love. Some were statements, some were appeals, but few were merely paintings. Art was a language all its own. It was her language, and it spoke to her, telling her she belonged in this world. It was her anchor. It restored her peace.
One piece in particular caught her eye. Pausing before it, she’d begun studying the artist’s technique when a voice cascaded from above.
“He’s very good, isn’t he?”
Tayte looked around for the owner of that urban, edgy voice and found a honey sweet smile spreading across the face of a lithe thirty-something woman. She was stunning, with black hair severely pulled back and woven through some metallic rings. The woman leaned farther over the rail. “I’ve been watching you, the way you soaked in the essence of the room. I can tell that you’re an artist.”
A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET Page 4